Harry's Return
by Trish Shakespeare
Summary: Harry comes back, and Ginny embarrases herself. Hilarity ensues. HPGW, obviously. Ginny's POV. Now completely finished! Really. No more.
1. Chapter 1

Return

Disclaimer: Not mine! Waaaaaait . . . Yup, still not mine.

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He. Is. Here. Now. In. The Kitchen.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! YAAAAAAAAAAA! WAAAAAAAAA!

What do I do what do I do what do I do?

Okay. Panic has subsided enough. No, but seriously. I walked downstairs about thirty minutes ago in my humongous hand-me-down-from-Bill pajama Pants with "QUIDDITCH" down the side and a humongous-to-the-point-of-being-almost-indecent shirt of Ron's with "Cannons" on the back and a large orange "Chudley" on the front. And I walk in, smile at Mum, who looks past me and to my right with a very odd expression and says, "Sweet Merlin, I" And then her voice trails off.

There he was. All dirty and funky smelling and with blood on him. But so indescribably _Harry_. And I felt sick.

He wasn't looking at me, he was looking at the kitchen, at Mum, even at the ceiling, but not me. And of all the times I imagined our reuniting, I was wearing a beautiful dark blue dress and he definitely smelled good, and he was minty fresh. Plus, he was looking at me.

So what can I say? I ran. And here I am now, writing it down in a stupid ugly pink notebook, with the words, "My Diary" written on it in pink letters. Lavender, the ugly cow, gave it to me last year for my birthday when she liked Ron.

I'm afraid of him. I know he doesn't like me anymore. He would've kissed me, even in front of my Mum. He's Harry- he wouldn't care.

And now he's sitting in my kitchen eating food and looking amazing, in spite of being disgustingly dirty.

I don't know what to do, but--

That was Ron. He had come into MY room (one of the advantages of being the only girl) without knocking to "inform me" that "Harry is here now." I "informed him" that if he didn't get out of my room I would Bat Bogey Hex him to the Death Eaters.

Lovely. Now Mum's insisting that I come downstairs to eat. I have nothing to wear that is seductively alluring yet at the same time carefully casual. . .

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So I went down for breakfast in my seductively-alluring-yet-carefully-casual attire. Okay, so maybe it was jeans and a T-shirt. But leave me my illusions, okay?

"Oh, Ginny. There you are." Mum said, looking all flustered. "Help me make some sausages and eggs for breakfast." Sausages and eggs! The best breakfast we usually get ever is pancakes! And then only usually two per person. Harry should so be here every day.

But then I looked around the kitchen and noticed that-hey! There was no Harry! Just a grimy seat from where he had put his bottom. His adorable, lovely . . .

Shut up Ginny! He doesn't like you anymore! Remember the reunion? It didn't really even happen!

I asked Mum where he was, half hoping that maybe he was up in Ron's room writing love poetry to me.

"Oh, Darling, he's taking his bath. He was absolutely filthy when he came in." So much for that one last shining hope. Ah, well . . .

Anyways, I was making the eggs, concentrating on not concentrating on Harry, and in walks Harry. He's all clean now, and his hair was wet, which makes it even messier, which makes me want to run my fingers through it, which makes me think about Harry, which makes me burn the eggs.

"GINNY!" Oops. Burning smell! This can't be good. Yelling mother. This definately can't be good.

And the adorable crossed out annoying git just sat there, smirking. I really want to yell at him. But now mum handed me the burnt pan and a spatula, and gave me the task of cleaning it out. Because apparently, I am not "good for anything else at the moment." Mum went off on one of her tangents. I nodded every now and then, just to look like I was actually listening.

We ate breakfast. I looked at my plate the whole time and ate really, really fast, even though it was all really good.

So now I'm up here again, hiding in my room. Merlin, it's hot. You know what? I've a window and a broom. It's possible that I can open the window, mount the broom, and cool off, without ever seeing Harry! Yesss.

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Well, that was traumatizing. I am scared to come out now.

What happened was this; I was flying around for about an hour. I'd left some water and sweets (hidden in my room for snacks) on the roof. I was getting a bit tired, so I flew over to the roof.

And there was Harry, sitting and staring at his trainers.

"Hello, Harry," I said, trying to make my voice as normal and cheerful as possible. Consequentially, it came out rather high pitched and hyper.

Harry just nodded. He had this really depressed expression. Like- I dunno. Everything had gone wrong. But how could it? He'd come back. That must mean he'd killed Voldemort.

I didn't know what to do- if he wanted me to cheer him up or leave him alone, or what. I just said, "I'll go get my food then." So I got it and ate really fast (again, so now I have a major stomach ache). He left and walked down the stairs in the roof to the attic, to, I assumed the kitchen.

I flew around for another half hour, then decided to go fly back inside my room. The thing is, I sort of miscalculated and smashed into the big old oak in front of Ron's window.

It must have made some noise, because Harry poked his head out of the window, looking adorable and kissable. I was lying, holding my broom with one hand, spread over a branch.

"Ginny?" Said Harry.

"Yes! Now if you would be so kind as to help me in, I would appreciate that greatly." Harry looked a little taken aback. He stuck his hand out and helped me back in. I brushed my self off, but then looked down when, instead of brushing off shirt over my stomach, I brushed my stomach.

I looked down, and instantly turned bright red. The tree had torn off the shirt over my stomach and part of my bra, so I was basically wearing a shrug and a bra. And I couldn't help it- I ran. But not before I noticed Harry was most definitely not looking at my stomach.

Am I that ugly he can't bear to look at me?

I'm never leaving my room again.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's Return

Chapter Two

Author' Note: Hello again. I want everyone to review, now, okay?

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I'm in my room and the whole living in it thing seems to be working pretty well. Okay, fine, I've only been in here an hour so it's not like Mum or Dad or anyone's noticed, but who cares? I can do it. I have about three hundred romance novels up here to cry over, an absolutely enormous box of chocolates, and my radio. I can do it.

Really.

Fine. Maybe I'm a little bored. There's nothing to do but read and eat and listen and write! I would go out on my broom, but we all know how that turned out.

Uh oh. Someone's knocking. Be right back . . .

That was Harry. I'm cringing and probably redder than my hair at the moment. It was humiliating, especially when I realized that I was wearing my big t shirt with the bunny rabbit that is saying "I love my Mummy" that was my favorite when I was about four. (It was a dress on me, but who cares?) And Harry noticed the t shirt, too. This is what happened.

Me: Um. Hello.

Harry. I'm sorry. (very quietly and looking gorgeous- shut up Ginny!)

Me: Oh. Um, forgotten already! (As if! I've been obsessing for an hour!)

Harry: I didn't mean for you to be embarassed. You're like my sister. (He sees me as his sister. See? He's like my brother. A really gorgeous brother that I just want to kiss . . . Shut up, Ginny!)

Me: Yes. And you're like my brother. (It's the truth. Really.)

Harry: Okay. (He left.)

I feel so humiliated I want to cry. He thinks I'm his sister. Of course he doesn't like me anymore. But now . . .

Oh. My. God. I'm in love with Harry Potter, and he thinks of me as a sister.

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I just ate the whole box of chocolates. I'm going to get really fat and then Harry will just think of me as his really fat chocolate eating sister.

I just thought of something. The bathroom's downstairs. How do I get there without leaving my room, especially as I haven't got my Apparition license yet?

I just thought of something else. I need to pee.

If bathroom equals downstairs equals place Ginny can't go equals place she needs to go, how does she get to the bathroom?

Okay. Here's the plan. I look left and right for anyone. Then, once it's empty, I go. I hide in the linen closet if anyone appears. Then, once the coast is clear again, I go downstairs, hide in the pantry, then bathroom and peeing!

Seems foolproof. Plus, I'll be in the pantry so I can get some food.

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Mum made me leave my room. She opened the pantry and caught me. Then the epitome of evil said,

"Ginevra, sweetheart, could you help me in the garden?"

I, of course, couldn't say no, trapped by the epitome of evil as it was. But I couldn't say no either. Mathematically speaking, garden equals outside equals not in my room equals able to see Harry and be embarassed once again equals ruining my life. So if I worked in the garden it would ruin my life.

I tried to explain this to Mum without mentioning Harry, but she didn't comprehend.

So we went outside to degnome, and I threw a gnome into a bush. The bush said, "Ow, gettofffff!" Now, I being a very intelligent Ginny, knew that bushes do not talk, so I went to the bush, kicked it, and said, "Hey! Are you by any chance a servent of an evil lord whose name might just happen to rhyme with Doldermort and who was recently defeated by Harry Potter?"

And an ugly woman with a thin, teeeeeny nose and thin, teeeeny eyes, and thin, teeeeeeeny lips popped out and said, "Not at all. I represent Witch Weekly and I was hoping to get a shot of Harry Potter for our Hunks and Heroes report."

And then a bunch of bushes moved and a bunch of reporters popped out and started shaking my hand and saying stupid things like. "Miss Weasley, would you say Harry is A) A hero, B)The love of your life, C) An excellent kisser, or D) All of the above?"

I screamed for Dad.

Dad came running out. He saw all of the reporters asking me about Harry and our breakup and my feelings about Harry now that we are living in the same house and yelled really loudly,

"GET OFF MY LAND, YOU TRESPASSING MANIACS!" Then he grabbed me and hurried me inside. I ran back in my room and here I am again. Embarassed. Because I may have answered that multiple choice question D. And Mum happens to get that magazine. And Harry might just see that on the cover it says, "Ginny Weasley admits Harry Is Her Love! He's a really good kisser, she says!"

I am unbelievably dead. And have brought bottles up to my room to solve the whole bathroom dilemma, so I won't have to leave.

It may be disgusting, but it's better then the alternative!

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Press the little review button, go on, do it . . ..


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Author's Note: Okay, so it took me a little while to update, but , hey, I'm lazy!

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The bottle thing was going pretty good until it started to smell. Now my whole room smells like pee. Plus, I've been in here a whole day now and have used up like half the bottles! (Hey, I was very thirsty yesterday.)

Hmmm. Open window. Full bottles. Ginevra, my dear girl, I do believe we have a plan.

Bad idea. Very, very, very bad idea. I kind of dumped the bottles out without looking down. And Harry was kind of walking around the yard, looking all cute and Harry ish. And by the time I saw him it was kind of too late to do anything. Cause most of the bottles were already thrown down. So all of my . . . bodily discharge . . . kind of landed right at his feet. And then he kind of saw me looking out my window.

As if the whole magazine interview thing isn't going to be enough. Plus, I think I killed some of Mum's flowers with my "liquid".

I am so dead. My life is ruined.

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Mum just tried to get me to go down to dinner. I refused. It went something like this;

Mum: Ginny, time for dinner!

Me: I'm not going, Mum. Can you bring it up here? (Hey, I'm hungry!)

Mum: Why aren't you going down stairs to join the rest of the family? (_Harry_, mum. Harry. That's why.)

Me: I'm just not. (Because it would ruin my life!)

Mum: I'm not taking that for an answer. Tell me right now. (Nooooooo! Life ruined times ten billion! Because Mum would almost certainly tell Harry, aka the Love of MY LIFE who just had my pee land at his feet!)

Me: Just bring up the food, Mum! (slams door.)

Okay, maybe I didn't handle that so well. But I'm hungry. And humiliated. And scared. Plus, I just ate my last chocolate, which is saying something, because I had like five boxes of Madame Labre's finest chocolates. Okay, so they're cheap. So what? They're good.

There's Mum. I knew her motherly instincts couldn't keep me away from food for long.

Eeyuch. It's that disgusting newt soup and fresh banana loaf, which I hate. And no pumpkin juice! No pumpkin juice! I practically live for pumpkin juice! Which Mum totally knows. I bet she did this to me just to punish me for not coming down to dinner.

My mother is seriously evil! Seriously!

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Okay. So now I'm wondering when Witch Weekly is going to come. Not that I want it to come. It's just that I'm sick of waiting for it in frightened anticipation.

I had a dream about it last night. In the dream Harry saw the article about me and thought that I was a giant vat of pumpkin juice. Actually, the dream may have been caused by a severe lack of the aforesaid pumpkin juice.

Is there such thing as pumpkin juice withdrawel?

Because Mum has sent up a note via Fred saying that I don't get pumpkin juice till I come downstairs and act like a normal human being. I tried talking reason to her, explaining that a) I'm not very interesting anyway, so it's not like anyone misses me, and b) There's more food for all of them without me.

For some reason or another Mum absolutely refused to listen to reason.

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Oh. My. Gooooooooooooooooooood.

It's come.

It's horrible.

I'm going to kill myself.

How I saw was this; Mum brought it up to me, asking if I wanted to "talk about my feelings" and she knew "breakups are very difficult."

AAAAAAAAA!

And then I saw it. The magazine cover. There's this picture of me on the cover they must've snapped of me in my garden. My hair is a mess and there's a chocolate smear on my chin that they fixed, but now it looks like I just have a bit of a beard. My mouth is wide open. Screaming, I suppose.

Anyways, on the side, it says; "Exclusive Interview with Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter's Girlfriend. His Bum Is Gorgeous and I Love Him, She Says!" Okay. That is so wrong. I may think that, but I've never said that. Not in those words at least.

I have to get rid of it. I have to make sure Harry never sees it. My trash can is over flowing. I know! I'll flush it down the toilet!

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Yay! Another chappie done! R&R, beloveds!


	4. Chapter 4

Yeah, so, while this is probably tying for my favorite story with _Ten Minutes To Midnight_, I really haven't had the urge to write anything. But then, for some reason, in the past few weeks a few people rediscovered it and were all "UPDATE OR I MURDER YOU" so I figured if I valued my life I should update. Also I sort of wanted to figure out what happens to Ginny. So here goes the final chapter: (drum roll, please.)

(I DON'T HEAR YOU DRUM ROLLING)

DRUM ROLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you.

Oh, and also I realize, looking back on this story, that my brain was completely obsessed with toilets a year ago. So I apologize for all the minds that were damaged. Also for all the toilet stuff in this chapter. I set up a lot to do with toilets in the plot line.

You may continue drum rolling

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So that was a bad idea. Again, what is with me and the bad ideas? Obviously I am stupid and therefore don't deserve such a wonderful human being and Harry Potter, even if he did love me back. But he doesn't and never ever will. So I should just drown myself because without Harry my life is meaningless.

Except drowned people look kind of gross, all bloated and icky. And I want my death to make Harry love me, not puke up his supper. Poison? But it probably tastes bad. I couldn't stab myself because that would make a mess and would be painful and RUIN whatever clothes I was wearing. And I would like my death to be in a beautiful satin gown so that I can be tragically sprawled out with my hair everywhere and look so fabulous that Harry cries about how he never admitted his undying affection for me and my brothers will feel bad for treating me like a baby all these years when obviously I am a simply stunning young woman.

But I won't kill myself. For one thing I haven't got the guts (get it? Guts? Cuz if you kill yourself than you don't have any guts!! HAHAHAHA!!!) and for another thing it probably wouldn't work because Harry would just be "Oh my poor sister figure. How horribly tragic. I'm just going to look noble and sexy now with my ohso perfect eyes and bum and. . ."

Stop it Ginny. You're getting off track. Now tell the nice pink diary what happened.

So I went downstairs late last night to flush the magazine in the toilet. (Which probably, in retrospect wasn't the best idea as I could just have easily had hid it in the mess that is my room. But I suppose it's too late now.) However, as anyone who isn't nearly as stupid as I am would have figured out that it would clog the toilet. And I am no good with de-clogging spell. Bat-bogey hexes, certainly. But anything household-y I am as bad at doing as Harry is at looking ugly.

So I'm standing there, with the toilet over flowing from the soggy tabloid stuck in the toilet bowl, thinking "whatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo" and of course followed my basic instinct; that is, to sob hysterically for being such an idiot. Don't shake your head and say "Of course you're not an idiot Ginevra. You are a wonderful person." Let me prove how idiotic I am.

I flushed a magazine down the toilet.

I peed in bottles.

I poured said bottles out of the window.

I told Witch Weekly, which is read in literally read by every witch household in the country, that I am still in love with Harry Potter.

I am still in love with Harry Potter.

Oh, and I managed to clog the only usable toilet in the whole house with a magazine that declares my love for him on the front cover.

To explain something to you, my darling little fuzzy pink book, we have two bathrooms in the whole house. So there is often a line for the bathrooms. At the moment, however, there are pixies in the upstairs bathroom so everyone is using the one by the kitchen. Of course, that is the one that I clogged.

So of course I pulled out the most that I could from the toilet (hey, no one had peed in it, so it was only water at that point) but the damage was done. A big corner of it had ripped off and had been flushed partway down the toilet so that it was completely blocked up and looked about ready to explode. I ran back upstairs and here I am.

Oh Merlin's tonails. WHERE IS THE COVER OF WITCH WEEKLY??????

The soggy, stupid cover must have gotten ripped of when I was pulling it out. Lucky for me, the cover has the horrible headlines which will bring me to my doom.

Oh no oh no. Now I'll have to go into hiding and never come out until my darling Harry is dead. Because not only will he never want to speak to me again, my entire family will never let me forget that I was in love with Harry Potter and he doesn't love me back and I was idiot enough to tell Mum's favorite magazine that I was in love with him and liked his bum.

That drowning option is starting to look pretty good.

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On the other hand, cancel the drowning.

I was lying on my bed, wallowing in misery and preparing to spend the rest of my life in hiding in a cave taking no baths and being utterly repulsive as penance for my stupidity, when I heard a knock on the door.

I moaned "Go away" but then I heard a very familiar, deep voice say, "Ginny? Um, can I come in? Please?"

I wanted to sink through the floor. I wanted to kill myself by drowning, no matter how yecchy it would make me look. I wanted to Apparate to the Australian outback or the Sahara desert or one of those mainly uninhabited places where no one will ever find me.

But of course I did none of those things, and figuring I might as well get the humiliating conversation over with so that I could commence with the hiding and repulsiveness, I said "Come in". And sat up.

Harry entered, looking amazingly sexy with his hair all messed up. His hands were behind his back, and I had an inkling I knew what he was holding.

Harry: Erm, Ginny, can I talk to you?

Me: Alright. (Much more cheerily than I actually felt)

Harry: Takes out Witch Weekly cover

Me: thinking NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry: Ginny, is this true?

Me:

Harry: (talking really fast) Because, you know, I was maybe hoping it was.

Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Harry: See, I liked you but then you acted all like a friend to me and I figured you probably didn't like me that way anymore. So do you? Like me that way anymore?

Me: (really quietly) Yeah.

Harry: Um. Wow.

Me: But-

Harry: What?

Me: You didn't look at me.

Harry: When?

Me: When you came home. And when I wasn't really wearing a shirt. Plus, didn't I spill, you know, at your feet?

Harry: I was shy. I thought you wouldn't like me anymore. And I didn't know what to say to you. And I didn't want to be rude and stare at your chest. (And then he said the most incredible thing) Though I sort of wish I had. And the "you know"? I just figured that was George or someone. I won't hold it against you, though. Provided I can kiss you now.

I knew he was meant for me.

Because before I knew it one of his hands was on the small of my back and the other on was in my hair and he was snogging the daylights out of me. And I have forgotten how that boy can kiss. He has such nice soft lips, and. . .

All of a sudden he pulled back and said, "Do you really like my bum?"

I grinned and pulled his face down to mine and proceeded in giving him the best kiss of his life.

This story is done.. Au revoir!

And review. Because this story has FOUR TIMES the amount of views as one of my others, and only two more reviews. Which is ridiculous.


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